The Three Bears football version
by Me
Summary: How do you tell The 3 Bears in a house of football fanatics, esp. Packer ones? Here's how I've crafted the tale


My good church friend is a huge Packers fan. His five-year-old nephew likes me to tell him stories when I'm there. Being creative, I have come up with a version of the Three Bears he loves; especially because it keeps changing and getting sillier. But, here is the general gist of (voice of NFL Films narrator)  
  
The Real Story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears  
  
Once upon a time there were three bears. There was the Papa Bear, a big, hulking, 300 pound linebacker. The Mama Bear, a running back with the moves to outmaneuver any defense. And a little Baby Bear kicker, because he hadn't grown big enough yet to actually play any other position.  
  
One day, the Three Bears were getting ready to finish off a huge postgame spread - turkey, roast beef, pasta, and of course, porridge. With ice cream for dessert - if they're good. But, when it came time for them to sit down to eat, suddenly Papa Bear, in the middle of woofing down six racks of ribs, said "Thfporrbddooot...er, This porridge is too hot. See, kid, that's why you never talk with your mouth full."  
  
Mama Bear said "My porridge is too hot, too." And Baby Bear said the same thing.  
  
So, Papa Bear suggested they all go for a walk in the woods. And they would have made it back in time, except that upon leaving their home, they were met by hundreds of screaming autograph seekers. And, they stopped to sign every one.  
  
Along came Goldilocks. Now this girl was assumed to have gold hair, but of course nobody really knows if Goldilocks had gold hair because she was constantly wearing her brightly colored Green Bay Packers helmet when out in public.  
  
Well, Goldilcoks saw the postgame spread, and tasted Papa Bear's porridge. "This porridge is too hot," she declared, although she did help herself to a few dozen chicken wings.  
  
She then tasted Mama Bear's porridge. "This porridge is too cold," she said.  
  
When she got Baby Bear's porridge, though, it was just right. And she ate it, too.  
  
Then, she went and had dessert. She tasted Papa Bear's ice cream. "This ice cream is too cold," she said. "It has little chunks of ice in it; it looks like the frozen tundra of God's Paradise on earth, historic Lambeau Field."  
  
She then tasted the Mama Bear's Ice Cream. "This ice cream is too hot," she said as the last seconds ticked away and the final bit melted. (Of course, Mama Bear's other stuff was too cold, so it figured this would be too warm, since ice cream is supposed to be cold but porridge is supposed to be hot. That's how I explain if any kid asks.)  
  
However, Baby Bear's ice cream was just right. She ate it all up - and then got a great big ice cream headache. "I need to sit down," she said as she held her head and gritted her teeth, the cold pounding at her brain.  
  
She sat down in Papa Bear's chair, just under the picture of his papa, the original Papa Bear, George Halas. "This chair is too hard," Goldilocks said, taking a minute to get out of the chair because she was still pretty little, and it was the chair of a 300-pound Bear.  
  
Then, she sat in Mama Bear's chair. "This chair is too soft," she said, though she did like the picture of Walter Payton above it. "There was an enemy that even us Packer fans could truly love," she said to herself.  
  
Next, she sat in Baby Bear's chair. Suddenly, the bend but don't break defense that had allowed it to withstand thousands of bottoms for nearly four quarters broke. Like a herd of stampeding elephants, Goldilocks broke through that chair with incredible determination, shattering it into a million pieces as she crashed into the end zone...I mean as she crashed to the floor.  
  
Having accomplished that task, she set her sights on a bed. She tried Papa Bear's bed, though, and said "this bed is too hard." Then she tested mama Bear's and it was too soft. Then, she got into Baby Bear's bed, put her Packers' helmet on the nightstand to cover up the bobblehead doll Baby Bear had sat there, and fell asleep.  
  
Well, the Three Bears finally arrived home, their fingers numb from signing so many hats, t-shirts, and game programs, and finally decided to get into their postgame spread.  
  
"Somebody's been eating my porridge," Papa Bear said.  
  
"Somebody's been eating my chicken wings," Mama Bear said. "Oh, yeah, I guess they tasted the porridge, too."  
  
Baby Bear then said, "Somebody ate all my porridge, and all my ice cream. Boy, if it's the same person who ate your chicken wings, Mama, she must really be tired. Maybe she's even sleeping in our beds," Baby Bear suggested.  
  
Papa Bear shook his head. "Don't be silly, Baby Bear. That only happens in those dumb criminal stories like you hear on Paul Harvey's news and comments sometimes."  
  
So, next they went into the living room. "Somebody's been sitting in my chair...ooh, they must have dropped some chicken when they came in here," Papa Bear said as he picked a piece off the chair. (Goldilocks had forgotten to wipe her hands; in fact, she never does in any version I know. But, I guess that's how Papa Bear knows she was sitting there.)  
  
"Papa Bear, will please stop eating for a minute; somebody's been sitting in my chair, too," mama Bear complained.  
  
"Somebody's been sitting in my chair, and broke it into a million pieces," Baby Bear sobbed, still thinking about the fact he didn't have any more ice cream either.  
  
Next, they went upstairs. "Somebody's been sleeping in my bed," Papa Bear said.  
  
"Somebody's been sleeping in my bed," Mama Bear said.  
  
Baby Bear stared at Goldilocks for a second, that looked away. "Somebody's been sleeping in my bed, and she...hey! What kind of a dummy would put a Packer's helmet over my bobblehead doll!"  
  
Upon hearing Baby Bear's complaint, Goldilocks was roused from a deep sleep. "Eeek! Bears!" she cried.  
  
"Why did you put this...this abomination on top of my bobblehead doll," Baby Bear shouted.  
  
"Goldilocks grabbed the Packers helmet in her arm, then twisted and swerved through the bedroom, juking and sidestepping with the grace of a ballerina, as she eluded the usually sure-handed tacklers of the ferocious Monsters of the Midway. In the blink of an eye, she had danced around the tacklers on her way to a sensational 85-yard touchdown...oh, wait, sorry. She ran out the door.  
  
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There you have it; sorry it's not much, my other stories are generally a lot longer (read 'em sometime, you'll have fun), but it keeps the little ones occupied. And giggling, wondering what touch I might add next time. 


End file.
